


Moving In

by jadey36



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadey36/pseuds/jadey36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you really have a hankering for a man in leather?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'Moving Out'. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. No copyright infringement intended.

“Do you really have a hankering for a man in leather?”

Startled, Robin throws the covers from his face, cursing the interruption of his dream about a ghostly Marian slipping between his open thighs. He grins, however, when he sees it’s Gisborne.  

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Marian’s clanking chains getting on your nerves?”

Guy turns as if to leave the room, changes his mind and plonks onto the bed – _his_ bed – if for no other reason than to rest his tired legs. He twists around to regard the outlaw and wonders whether Robin’s upper body is the only part of him uncovered.

Robin drums two fingers on the carved piece of wood nestling in the hollow of his chest. “Admiring my tag, are we?”

Guy clears his throat. Part of him wants to wipe the infuriating grin off Robin’s face with his fist, while the other part is imagining kissing it away. Right now though, Guy has no idea whether Robin was teasing him last evening, or whether the outlaw really does want to get up close and personal with someone he’s spent the better part of two years trying to either avoid or kill.

“I chased her ghost all the way to that stinking forest you outlaws like to call home only to be jumped by that thieving cutpurse a-Dale and your simple-minded servant, Mulch. I barely escaped with my life.”

“It’s Much,” Robin informs him, easing himself up against the leather covered headboard. “And?” he prompts, his grin spreading further still as he notices Guy’s eyes flick to where Robin’s sleep-damp skin meets the top edge of the bedsheet.

Guy crosses his legs, his leather trousers making an audible squeak as he does so. “Marian insisted I had to go to Nottingham and make that proclamation about stabbing her to death. She said it was the only way her door would appear, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

Even though revenge will not bring back the woman he called his wife, Guy can’t help but wonder why Robin hasn’t leapt out the bed and tried to strangle him, especially as there was a time when Guy had only to mention Marian’s name to send Robin into a rage.

Now, as he contemplates the outlaw lazily stretching, the morning sun slanting through the shuttered window and painting stripes of light and shadow across his hair and face, Guy wonders whether it was nothing more than an elaborate sham, a way of covering up some less than wholesome desires. The thought, unholy though it is, does not altogether displease him.

“What did you tell her?” Robin asks, squinting against the sunlight.

Guy stares, trying to see if there are any signs of the fangs Robin sprouted last evening.  No, just plain ordinary teeth, he sees, as Robin opens his mouth for a cavernous yawn. Perhaps he had imagined it. After all, he did get the fright of his life when Marian’s ghost started flapping her blood-soaked dress about and hissing at Guy that he had to confess his sins to the whole of Nottingham, in broad daylight, and on market day to boot.

“I said she could go take a running jump.”

“Then what?”

“She whacked me in the shins with those bloody chains of hers. It really hurt.”

“Don’t I know it,” Robin sympathises, slipping a hand under the sheets to rub his own smashed shin. Guy watches the ripple of black satin as Robin massages his injury and an altogether different ripple, one of desire, floods his groin. He crosses his legs a little more tightly.

“So,” Robin says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you still want me to answer your question?”

“What question?”

“The one about me fancying a man in leather?”

No, no and thrice times no a tiny voice screams in his ear, but, despite his misgivings, Guy finds himself nodding.

“You look uncomfortable perched on the edge of the bed. Why don’t you sit next to me?” Robin pushes the sleep-crumpled sheet away, revealing he is indeed wearing nothing but his outlaw tag, and shuffles over, patting the empty space beside him. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

Guy stares, gulps. “Promise?” he manages.

“Promise.” Robin smiles a self-satisfied smile, sliding a hand between his thighs and sighing as his cock, already half-hard, hardens further.

Fangs or no fangs, Guy knows there’s no turning back now. He wants this. He’s wanted it since the day Robin twanged a bowstring in his face and declared that Guy’s services were no longer required. From the dark, hungry look in Robin’s eyes, it’s obvious the outlaw is happy for services, albeit of a different nature, to resume. Guy tugs at his trouser belt and fumbles with fastenings that are suddenly far more complicated than usual, for once, happy to oblige Nottingham’s hero.

~

“Where have you been?” Marian demands, hands on hips.

“In the castle,” Robin retorts. “Where you proposed you and I go live, or was all that about haunting Gisborne nothing more than hot air?”

“Trust me, Robin,” Allan interrupts. “There’s nothing hot about Marian anymore.”

“I’m not talking to you. Well?” Robin can’t deny he still gets a kick out of seeing Marian flustered.

“It was all going fine until you messed it up by baring your fangs.”

“I was only trying to help. Besides, it did scare the crap out of Gisborne which is what I thought you wanted.”

“You know full well I wanted more than that. Because I’m still here, aren’t I? Do you know how galling it is to flap around in this hideous dress when I’d much rather be wearing a cute little cardigan and culottes, preferably in colours other than white!”

“I agree, death doesn’t really become you, my love.” Robin turns back to his horse pretending to adjust its bridle while surreptitiously scratching his spent balls.

“Don’t you _my love_ me, Robin of Locksley. I wasn’t the one offering to sink my teeth into Gisborne’s neck. And before you start protesting, no I do not think it was merely on account of you being hungry.”

“Still hungry,” Robin quietly whispers into his horse’s mane, though it is a toss-up between a thirst for blood and a thirst for something decidedly less red but equally messy.

“No one,” Guy roars, striding into the camp, sword drawn, “is going to sink their teeth into me, not while there’s breath in my body and a sword in my hand.” _Of course, that didn’t mean that a certain someone couldn’t sink another part of his anatomy into him, had in fact, only earlier this morning._

Marian rounds on Guy, wishing she’d left his sword buried in her stomach; chains weren’t good enough for what she presently wanted to do to him.

Swearing, Allan whips a dagger from his belt. Much grabs a heavy iron frying pan, the closest thing to hand.

“Wait!” Robin commands, stepping between Guy and his friends. “Gisborne is here at my request. I promised him no harm would come to him and I intend to honour that promise. In fact, I have an announcement to make – Guy’s moving in.”

“You what!”

“Surely, master, you cannot be—”

“Put the weapons down, you too Gisborne, and I’ll explain.”

Reluctantly, the men drop their weapons and cookware. Much groans when he realises there were still rashers of bacon in the pan. Robin gives Marian a daggered stare and, with a scowl, she drops her chains.

“Now,” Robin says, “it seems to me we’re a bit thin on the ground when it comes to helping the poor. Marian can no longer do her Night Watchman thing now she’s a ghost and—”

“I don’t see why not,” Allan interrupts. “Not being funny, but the Night Watchman did come out at night and—”

“I can hardly go around without my disguise,” Marian retorts. “Everyone will recognise me and, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m dead.”

Allan shrugs. “I still don’t see the problem. You could always change your name to something more fitting like the Night Corpseman or something.”

“As I was saying,” Robin continues, glaring at Allan. “With Marian out of action and me unable to be near people in case, well... you know, bats and things, we’re a bit thin on the ground.”

Guy shifts uncomfortably, eyes Robin’s mouth. Only a few short hours ago he’d been exploring that particular orifice with his tongue, among other things.

Robin glances at Guy, licks his lips and winks. “So,” he says, turning to face his friends, “that just leaves Allan and Much to do the village drop-offs and the handouts in Nottingham, not to mention getting medicines to the ever-sick residents of Clun.”

“Wait a minute.” Guy points at Little John’s staff leaning against a fallen tree. “What about the big ugly hairy one, Big Bear?”

“He’s...er...more of a big dog now than a big bear,” Allan says, flicking a nervous glance towards the surrounding forest.

“What do you mean?” Guy asks, fearfully turning full circle and thinking life with Vaisey was a breeze compared to the bizarre nightmare he’s suddenly found himself caught up in.

“Pay no attention to him,” Robin soothes. “It’s wolves, that’s all. But it’s true, John has taken up living wild in the forest so, like I was saying, we’re a bit short on numbers, which is where you come in.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Robin turns to Marian. “You said you wanted Gisborne to pay for what he did to you. Well, here’s a way he can pay and help us at the same time.”

“Are you suggesting Guy becomes an outlaw, one of us? What about him answering for his crimes, for stabbing me? What about my door?”

“You’ll get your door, all in good time. Right now, England needs us, the people of Nottingham need us. And we need more men. Allan and Much hardly constitute a gang.”

“And if Guy tries to pull a fast one?”Allan asks.

Robin grins, taps his teeth. Allan fingers his neck, remembering the close shave he had in one of Robin’s less than lucid moments, and nods in agreement.

“Much?” Robin asks.

“Fine, fine. But if he complains about my cooking—”

“Eating squirrel, you mean?” Allan says, nodding towards the trees.

“If he complains,” Much says, picking up slices of soil-coated bacon, “then I’ll...I’ll...”

“You’ll what?”

Unable to formulate an answer, Much stuffs the bacon into his mouth and promptly spits it out.

“Marian,” Robin says, blue eyes beseeching. “Please? For me?”

“For England, not for you,” Marian says, picking up her skirts. “And for the people of Nottingham.”

With a faint _whoosh_ , she disappears.

“Where did she go?” Guy asks.

“Don’t worry,” Robin explains. “She always does that when she’s in a sulk. Now, if no one has any objections, I’d like to get me a bit of shut eye.”

“Before you do, just explain one thing,” Guy says. “If Marian’s a ghost, how can she pick up those chains? Why don’t they pass right through her hands?”

“She says that if she concentrates really hard she can pick things up, not heavy things, though.”

Robin still has a blackened toenail courtesy of Marian’s attempts to help him don a suit of mail.

“She can pick up cups for instance.” He waves a hand at the camp. “She tends to make a lot of elderberry tea. Not that any of us ever drink it.”

Guy casts an eye over the outlaws’ camp. He sees there are half-full and, in some cases, full mugs of elderberry tea sitting on top of tree stumps, on fallen logs, even on the ground.

“She likes to keep busy,” Robin explains. “Just watch out if it’s her time of the month though. Things tend to fly around a bit.”

Much glances sadly at his much-depleted kitchen.

“So...” Guy eyes the outlaws’ sleeping quarters and peels off his leather gloves. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

“You can have Will’s bed,” Robin says.

“Will’s bed?”

“Next to mine,” Robin elaborates.

Guy pulls his gloves back on, thinking that now might be a good time to make a run for it. He eyes his discarded sword.

“Not being funny, but does Guy know about...er...you know?” Allan tugs at his neck-scarf, tips his head back.

Robin grins a predatory grin, teeth gleaming white in the evening gloom. “Don’t worry, Allan. I’ve promised him I won’t bite, haven’t I, Guy?”

Guy nods, wondering if he made a mistake bedding Robin, delicious though that mistake was. In fact, he’s beginning to think he made a mistake being born.

~

When he wakes, the first thing Guy does is finger his neck: no bleeding, no discernible chunks taken out of it. Then he fingers his underpants – slightly damp – and smiles into his pillow. _Those archer’s hands are good for a lot more than stringing arrows_.

“Rise and shine,” Allan singsongs. “No peace for the wicked here.”

Guy rolls onto his back and squints at the rosy dawn sky. “Where’s Robin?” he asks, glancing at the outlaw’s empty bed.

“Off hunting. He’ll be back later. Come on, chop, chop. We’ve food sacks and coin to deliver and, not being funny, the quicker we get this done the quicker I can get some well-deserved me time down at the Trip.”

Guy hurriedly dresses and makes his way towards Much’s kitchen. Much scowls and thrusts a trencher of bread and some unidentifiable meat into Guy’s hands. “Breakfast,” he says. He goes back to stirring his pot. Unlike Allan, who appears at ease with Guy’s presence in the camp, Much seems sorely disappointed that Robin didn’t drink Guy dry during the night. The thought of that possibility makes Guy shudder. The thought of all the other possibilities also makes Guy shudder. He walks over to a fallen branch to sit and eat his breakfast. The telltale catch in his underpants has him grinning. _One to Guy of Gisborne, nil to Mulchy Much_.

~

The village drop-offs do not go well.

Several peasants decide to chance their arm and throw rotten vegetables at Guy. It takes all of Allan and Much’s persuasive powers, plus a ghostly whack from Marian, to stop Guy from running the perpetrators through with his sword.

He does not fare much better handing out coin in Nottingham.

One plucky lad catapults a rock that nearly takes Guy’s eye out. An old crone leans out a second storey window and tips slops down his back. Guy is livid. It is going to be hard enough keeping his leathers clean living in a muddy, leaf-mouldy forest, without worthless peasants further adding to his woe.

Robin commiserates, saying it will take time for Nottingham’s people to get used to the fact that Guy is on their side now. Also, it might help if Guy didn’t scowl quite so much as he hands out the food or coin. “And when I said thread the bread and cheese on an arrow and shoot it over Clun’s fences, I meant shoot it at a convenient thatched roof or the side of a house rather than at the people themselves.”

With a mumbled apology, Guy stomps off to find a decent stream in which to wash his vegetable-entangled locks.

“You still haven’t explained how you got Guy to agree to help us,” Allan says once Guy is safely out of earshot.

“Vaisey threatened to have him strung up if he caught sight of him again,” Robin explains. 

“How come?”

“Apparently, several of the sheriff’s guards, including the ones posted outside his bedchamber, were found dead on Guy’s watch.”

“What happened?” Allan asks.

Robin shrugs. “A vampire can’t live on squirrel alone.”

Allan can’t argue with that. After all, he too has an alternative means of nutrition in the form of tankards of ale and meat pies courtesy of a busty serving wench at the Trip Inn and a customised set of find-the-pea tumblers.

Guy stomps back into camp, perches on a tree stump and flicks his long wet hair over his shoulders.

“Supper?” Robin offers Guy a trencher of cheese and yet more unidentifiable meat.

“Thank you. Aren’t you eating?”

“I ate earlier.” Robin picks at his teeth with a sharpened stick. 

Guy swallows and pushes his food away, his appetite suddenly gone.

“Tea?” Marian asks, materialising only inches from Guy’s bent knees.

“Why, thank you, Marian.”

Guy holds out a hand to accept the mug of steaming elderberry tea.

Marian drops it in his lap.

“Fuck!”

“Oops,” she says. “Forgot to concentrate.” She glances at Robin, smiles sweetly, picks up her bloody skirts and wafts to the other side of the camp.

“That woman is doing my head in,” Guy snarls.

“You can’t blame her,” Robin says. “You did kill her, after all.”

“True.” Guy gathers a bunch of gleaming wet hair between his hands and wrings it out.

Robin watches the steady drip, drip smacking onto the autumn leaves. “Tell you what. Why don’t you give the village drops a miss tomorrow and stay here with me. I could do with some help hunting and my arrows need re-fletching.”

“I think I can manage that.” Guy looks down at his lap, pleased to see the hot tea hasn’t marked his leathers but mortified that he’s so easily aroused.

“Good.”

Guy raises his head and meets Robin’s intense stare. It’s probably only a trick of the firelight, but Guy could swear that Robin’s eyes changed from blue to black and back again.

~

Things do not go as well as Guy had hoped.

True, Robin and he have the camp to themselves and are free to indulge in a bit of rough and tumble, but try as he might, Guy cannot rise to the occasion.

“What’s the matter?” Robin asks, sitting and brushing leaves from the back of his head.

“There are too many noises,” Guy grumbles.

“What do you mean, noises?”

“The leaves keep rustling.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Guy, we’re in a forest and a forest is full of trees.”

“And the birds are too loud and there are sharp things poking into my arms and legs.”

“You told me you liked the idea of having sex on a carpet of leaves. We can always try it on my bed, if you prefer.”

“That won’t be much better. The blankets you people have are all scratchy.”

“For fuck’s sake, what do you want? We’re outlaws, this is how we live. And in case you’ve forgotten, it was you and Vaisey who put us here in the first place.”

“You were the one who decided to play the hero.”

“Do you want to fight me instead?” Robin stands, fists held out in front of him.

“I cannot,” Guy says, mouth twitching on the edge of a smile, “fight a man who is harder than those damn branches sticking into me.”

Robin drops his arms. “Help me with it,” he implores.

“Only if you come back to the castle with me. I have a big soft bed with satin sheets, feather-filled pillows and not a leaf, twig or bloody bird in sight.”

“What about Vaisey? He said he’d pull your entrails out and feed them to the castle pigs if he sees you again.”

“There’s a secret passage to my chambers. Not even the sheriff knows about it.”

Robin grins. “Keep talking.”

~

Getting into the castle is easy (when has it ever not been?) and although Robin half suspects a trap, Guy is true to his word and there is indeed a secret tunnel leading to his bedchamber.

“What about Marian?” Guy asks, tugging off his boots and standing them neatly by the bed. “Will she know you’re here?”

“I’ll admit Marian does have an uncanny knack of knowing where I am at any given moment,” Robin says, tugging off his own boots and kicking them towards the far wall.

“Won’t she be mad about this, about us?”

“Probably,” Robin says. “But what’s she going to do about it?”

“Whack us with those bloody chains of hers,” Guy points out.

“Possibly, though I think she’s more likely to throw a couple of clumsy cartwheels, find out she passes right through us and end up spouting on about growing up and how everything is a choice.”

“What exactly does she mean by that?”

Robin shrugs. “No idea.”

“What if she—” A look of horror passes over Guy’s face.

“What?”

“Wants to join in?” 

Robin laughs. “Are you kidding? She was frigid enough before she died.”

“True,” Guy concedes with a lopsided grin.

Robin pats the bed. “Shall we?”

“Do you have—”

“Here.” Robin scoops up his discarded leather jerkin and produces a small vial from an inside pocket.

Satisfied, Guy throws himself onto the bed. “Ah, such is bliss,” he says, lying face down, spread-eagled across the silky black sheets. Despite the slipperiness of the sheets and the inherent danger of sliding off the bed should they become more than a little athletic, Robin has to agree. He tips a penny’s worth of oil into his hand and straddles Guy’s muscular thighs.

Guy rears up. “Change places,” he grunts, tipping Robin onto the floor.

“And you say fucking on top of forest debris is dangerous,” Robin complains, rubbing his elbow.

 “I want to be on top,” Guy says. “In fact, I want you on all fours facing away from me. I don’t trust you to be anywhere near my neck.”

Robin climbs back onto the bed. “Fair enough.” He lowers onto his elbows, arse in the air.

Guy contemplates teasing the outlaw with a bit of tongue work, but the sight of Robin’s offered cleft is too much for Guy’s lusting cock. “The vial,” he grunts.

Robin passes it backwards and grins, his fangs digging into his lower lip. _Gotcha!_

~

The sex, along with the constant clambering back onto the slippery-sheeted bed, has taken its toll, and by the time both men awake, the sun is well over the battlements.

“Close the shutters,” Robin complains, shielding his eyes.

Guy blinks and stretches. “Why?” He winces when his jaw cracks. For some reason, he’s having trouble turning his head. _I must have slept awkwardly_ , he thinks.

“Not good with excessive sunlight,” Robin explains.

“I’m not your bloody servant,” Guy grumbles, throwing back the sheet and sliding his legs out the bed. He is halfway to the shuttered window when a pounding on the heavy oak door stops him in his tracks. “Shit! Where’s my sword? Robin, where’s—”

Robin dives under the bed. He is still groping for his own sword when he hears the rattle of a key. The door flings back on its hinges.

“Gisborne!” the sheriff barks. “I thought I told you I never wanted to lay my eyes on your sorry person ag— Hood!” He points an accusing finger. “Hood...Hood...”

“Steady, sheriff,” Robin says, standing and calmly brushing bits of floor grime from his chest. “Gisborne and I were just having us a little pillow talk.”

“You...outlaw...in bed with...bed...with...naked...” The sheriff splutters to a stop. He whirls round, strides out the room and then strides back in again, as though that might change the scene he sees before him. He rubs his eyes, clearly dismayed that his former master-at-arms and the bane of his life, Robin-bloody-Hood, are still standing by a rumpled bed, both of them stark bollock naked.

“Gisborne,” he chokes, his face purpling. “I’ll have you for this. I’ll string you up by the seat of your pants. You too, Hood.”

Robin looks at Guy, winks. “Shall we?”

Guy touches his neck and his fingers come away bloody. _You bastard, Robin._ Then he grins, nods.

Simultaneously, both Robin and Guy turn towards the enraged sheriff. Together, they bare their fangs.

**The end**


End file.
